


Teamwork

by mixiz877



Series: Luis AU [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angry Spirits, Case Fic, Choking, Ghosts, Haunted Houses, Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt Sam Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, Impala, Limp Sam, POV Outsider, Salt And Burn, ghost hunt - Freeform, limp dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-02
Updated: 2015-11-02
Packaged: 2018-04-29 14:02:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 14,874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5130311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mixiz877/pseuds/mixiz877
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>LUIS HAS TO DEAL with the Winchesters when they drop in on him when a simple salt and burn turns out not to be that simple after all...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer. I don't own the Winchesters nor Luis.
> 
>  
> 
> This is my first supernatural fanfiction, much inspired by emebalia's fellowship series. You will find it on fanfiction net. I liked her character Luis, so I asked her if I could borrow him. So, many thanks for allowing me to use him. I hope I do him justice.

CHAPTER 1

With a happy sigh I plunked myself onto my couch, beer bottle in hand and propped my feet up on the little coffee table. It was Friday evening and I had just finished my shift at Memorial Hospital. It was my last shift before starting a well-deserved, three week vacation, the first vacation I'd had since moving here about seven months ago. I had enjoyed the relative quietness and anonymity of this town after the rather exciting and somewhat scary events that eventually forced me to change venue.

Taking a swig from my beer, I enjoyed the coolness running down my throat. I fished for the remote and switched on the TV. Friday night football showed a matchup that promised to be interesting and I relaxed back into the cushions.

Just as I tipped the bottle back for another sip of beer, my cellphone, on the coffee table, started to vibrate and move towards the edge of the round table. I sighed and dropped my feet to the ground in order to reach forward and grab the phone that had invaded the early minutes of my vacation.

An unknown number. I stared at it indignantly. It didn't ring a bell at all. I decided to let it go to voicemail and eventually the vibrating stopped. With a sigh I made to settle back in the cushions, but before I had even propped my feet back up, the offensive vibrating started again. One glance told me it was the same number.

Suppressing a curse I picked up the phone and took the call.

"Who's this?" I rasped gruffly. No harm in letting the caller know I wasn't happy about the invasion.

"Luis?"

I froze. I knew this voice, even though I never thought he'd actually call. Immediately the hair in my neck stood on edge and apprehension flooded my body. He would never call unless...I pushed the horrifying thoughts that entered my mind aside.

"Sam?"

There was only one reason why he would call me. I just wasn't sure I was ready for it. After the last time we met I had left my former college buddy and his brother my number for emergencies, knowing damn well they'd never call just to say hi. I had gotten yet another first hand insight into what the brothers were doing when I'd had to fix Sam after he was attacked by a manticore and later having seen the beast that almost gutted Sam beyond repair with my own eyes.

"Sam, are you alright?" I asked when Sam didn't continue. I got up and walked to the window, checking the driveway for a black Impala.

"It's Dean," Sam finally said. "Popped his shoulder... can't fix it."

"Sam," I started, but stopped short, trying to listen to the background noises. I wasn't certain, but it sure had sounded like a shot and a crash after to me. Before I could continue, however, Sam beat me to it.

"Needed to make sure you're home. Be there in ten."

"How...?" I trailed off, staring at the phone in my hand when I heard the disconnecting click. How did he know where I was? I know I had promised to fill them in on my new address once I had one but I hadn't gotten around to it, yet. Shaking my head I tried to make sense of what little Sam had mentioned. So Dean had busted his shoulder and Sam couldn't fix it. That could mean just about anything.

I glanced at my watch. Ten minutes, Sam had said. I pocketed my phone and went to grab my extended first aid kit I kept in the bathroom. Dumping it on the kitchen table I opened it and went to fetch some towels and switched on the kettle for hot water. Better to be ready. I had only met the brothers twice after Sam left Stanford, but I knew enough to be prepared for the worst.

Trailing back and forth between kitchen, bathroom and living room, to make sure I had everything that might be needed, I looked at my watch again. Eight minutes had passed since Sam's call. Darkness was starting to settle and I found myself back at the living room window, to check for the Impala. The kettle whistled and I rushed to the kitchen to take care of it, while keeping my ears strained for the low rumbling of their car.

I returned to my spot at the window. No Impala in sight. An uneasy feeling settled in the pit of my stomach. I glanced at the watch again. Twelve minutes since Sam had called. Before I knew it I found myself pacing back and forth until I couldn't take it anymore. I walked up to my front door and stepped out onto the porch. My house was the only one at this dead end road for about 500 yards. A few steps further there was the edge of the forest. By now darkness was closing in and I could hardly make out the closest house to mine. What was keeping them? Maybe Sam didn't know after all where I lived now or he had miscalculated the time they needed to get here.

Seventeen minutes.

I was pacing outside now, looking for the iconic Impala headlights to appear. My thumb was hovering over my phone as I contemplated trying the number Sam had used to reach me. Just a few more minutes, Luis, I told myself, starting another round of doing my impression of a caged tiger.

Finally I heard a low rumbling in the distance and a moment later the headlights of the Impala appeared out of the now inky darkness. Twenty-two minutes.

I stepped back towards my door and switched on the porch light. When I turned around the Impala had come to a stop. I couldn't make out anything but the shape of the car as I walked up to the driver's side. The door opened wide, followed by a dull thump. Quickening my pace I rounded the door just to stop short at the sight that greeted me.

"Dean!"

The older brother had tumbled out the door, feet still in the car. He was lying on his back, squeezing his eyes shut in pain. I knelt down next to him and got as good a look as I could in the dim light from the interior. Dean's left arm looked deformed even through the jacket he wore. He must have used his right arm to open the door and tumbled out along with it. I put my hand on his good shoulder, intending to help him up. His eyes flew open and he shook his head.

"I'm good. Help Sam," he pressed through gritted teeth, breathing harshly. I looked up and into the car to the passenger side. For a moment my heart felt like skipping a beat. Then my doctor instinct took over. Sam was slumped over against the passenger door, apparently unconscious, the left side of his face covered in blood. Way too much blood, for my liking.

Rushing over to the other side of the car I opened the door and caught my friend as he crumpled into my arms. Neither having the time nor the means to check Sam out on the spot, I pulled him out of the car as gently as possible and grabbed him in a fireman's carry. Sam was a tall man and I struggled to get him free of the car and safely into the house.

Finally I had him settled on my couch, taking my flashlight to check his pupils. "Concussion for sure," I mumbled to myself. Then I grabbed a towel and dabbed at the inch long cut above his left eyebrow. Stitches. But that could wait until I had seen to Dean.

"Dean? What the hell happened?" I called out while I used the towel to clean Sam's blood off me. When I got no reply I looked up and around. Dean hadn't followed me into the house, but that didn't surprise me much. I glanced at Sam to make sure he was good and then I stepped out onto the porch again.

The Impala was still parked as I left it. Driver's door and passenger door wide open, headlights on. No Dean to be seen. I jogged to the driver's side again. Dean was lying in the exact same spot as before, only now his face was slack in blessed unconsciousness, I hoped.

Raindrops started to fall and I sighed. I'd better get Dean inside before he was soaked to the bone. I grabbed his legs and pulled them free from the car when a thought hit me. Considering the situation a brief moment I realized Dean would never forgive me if I left his beloved car vulnerable to the elements. Dean would have to hold on another minute. I shut the passenger door and switched off the headlights, then removed the keys from the ignition.

"Okay, Dean. Your car is good. Now let's get you inside," I muttered. Mindful of his left shoulder I grabbed his right arm and slid a hand under his neck to grab a fist full of leather jacket, then I pulled him away from the door. Pausing a moment to bang the driver's door closed, I noticed blood on my left arm.

"Darn," I softly cursed. I had made sure there was none of Sam's blood left on me after cleaning him up so this could only mean Dean was in similar shape. How did he get the car here? Or maybe I should wonder how he got his brother in the car to start with. I sighed. The answers would have to wait.

I managed to get Dean onto my other couch much in the same manner I had carried Sam. Then I stepped back a moment to take stock. There was the obvious injury to Dean's shoulder but apart from that I saw nothing. No obvious bullet or knife wounds, slashes or abrasions. But that was only the front of him. "Where are you hiding your wound, Dean?" I mumbled to myself. Back of the head was my best guess. I carefully rolled the man onto his side. "Bingo."

Blood matted hair greeted me and I softly prodded around the injured area. Felt like a gash but not like mashed skull. Luckily Dean, unlike his brother, chose to keep his hair trimmed, which made it easier to assess the gash. Like all head injuries it had bled like hell. The bleeding had subsided by now and I cleaned around the gash to stitch it up. I only had to shave off a little of Dean's hair which would be almost grown back by the time the stitches were to come out.

I took my sewing kit over to Sam, proceeded to clean his wound and then applied some pressure to minimize the bleeding. The needle and thread work here was a quick routine and two minutes later I applied a Band-Aid to protect the stitches. Then I quickly scanned the rest of Sam. After all I had heard a gunshot. But by the looks of it there were no other injuries on Sam.

"Sam?" I asked, shaking his shoulder in an attempt to rouse him. Sam didn't respond. Only the steady rise and fall of his ribcage assured me he was doing fine, apart from being in dreamland. I would have to keep my eyes on him, but there was still Dean and his injured shoulder to worry about.

Turning back to the older brother, I worked on getting the leather jacket off him, which wasn't easy due to his complete unconsciousness. It would have been easier to just cut him out of it, but something told me he wouldn't appreciate my working on his jacket with a sharp object. Finally I had freed his torso from all of his garments. Sure enough he sported the same tattoo I had seen on Sam those months earlier. I made a mental note to ask about its significance later.

Dean's shoulder was starting to discolor already and I briefly wondered if I should risk getting him to the hospital for x-rays. Then I remembered the reason I decided to switch hospitals after the last time we met, having to do with the fact that they used false insurance. I didn't feel like having to move on again so the hospital was out of the question, unless it was unavoidable. A few tests on the humerus elicited a pained moan from Dean and told me the bone was intact. In light of the fact that Dean was starting to come to, I quickly arranged for our positions to be suitable to relocate the joint. Bracing myself, I gripped his arm firmly and mentally counting to three, I swiftly executed the necessary motion to fix the dislocation.

"Sonofabitch," Dean rasped through clenched teeth. A pair of green globes glared at me through half lidded eyes.

"Sorry," I said sympathetically. "It had to be done."

Dean's eyes softened slightly and he strained to sit up. I knew better than to try and assist him, yet I couldn't help but noticing the numerous scars on his torso made by bullets, knifes, claws and God knew what else. Did I want to know what the brothers had faced in their lives? I wasn't sure.

"How's Sam?"

I nodded to myself, having expected the question. From our last encounter I knew that Dean worried more about his brother than himself and vice versa.

"I suspect he's a bit concussed but we won't know for sure until he wakes up. He'll be okay," I replied, moving over to Sam to reassure myself of the truth of my words. "What happened?"

Dean grunted and waved his good hand dismissively. "Got on the bad side of a pissed Casper," he rasped. "Dude didn't appreciate our attempt to gank him."

I couldn't help but chuckle. Leave it to Dean to trivialize a ghost attack. I stepped up to the counter to pick up some painkillers and a glass of water and walked over to Dean.

"Good stuff," I told him, "doctor's orders." Dean frowned but I was determined not to back down. I forced myself to keep his stare and finally Dean stretched out his hand and took the pills.

"If that stuff makes me sleep I will kick your sorry ass three states further than we are now," he growled gruffly, but I was sure I heard a trace of affection in his voice. I raised my hands in mock surrender.

"Just numbs the pain, Dean. I swear." Dean snorted and made short work of his dessert. "I need to wrap up your shoulder still," I attempted, holding up a triangle sheet and some bandages. Dean's eyes widened.

"Aww come on, dude. I'll live."

"Just for a few hours. If you play nice I'll even get you a flashy ice pack for it."

"You're really generous," Dean rolled his eyes and tentatively moved his shoulder. Immediately he squeezed his eyes shut and threw his head back in pain. "I thought the smarties numb the pain," he hissed, teeth clenched.

"Give them a few minutes to kick in, hotshot," I grumbled, incredulous at the man's impatience. Dean swallowed and held his breath for a moment.

"Okay, doc, wrap it up."

"I knew you'd come around," I grinned and grabbed the stuff to get to work.

"Just don't get any ideas," Dean grumbled when I probed around his bare shoulder. "I don't swing that way."

I chuckled, shaking my head, incredulous. "Believe me; I haven't forgotten it from last time you told me. And just for the record, neither do I." I smiled to myself and got to work. "Why don't you elaborate about your ghost story," I pressed. I had to admit, I was curious. I had witnessed Sam and his brother gank a ghost - as they put it - before and it had shaken me up considerably. In the aftermath I had changed my studies around to become what I am now. A doctor, which came in handy when the brothers had stumbled into my hospital, not so long ago.

"Not much to tell," Dean sighed dismissively.

"Humor me," I countered.

He looked up at me and opened his mouth to say something. But he didn't. Instead he raised his eyebrows and put on a fake smile. "If you insist," he conceded. Then he took a deep breath as I pulled the bandage tighter, but said nothing.

"Read in the papers about the two teens that checked out the abandoned mansion on the other side of town?" he started. I nodded. I had read that, too. Those youngsters had disappeared on the premises and reappeared on the other side of the property's gate a few days later, bodies broken and mangled, stiff and stark. Had looked like someone had tossed them over the wall like a bag of trash. Police had suspected that homeless people had used the abandoned building as shelter and didn't appreciate the invasion, but they found no evidence of anybody living there in any way.

"Sam dug up a story of a young man who had been killed in the house and buried on the property. So we decided to do a simple salt and burn." Dean paused, glancing over at his brother. I took this as my cue to check on Sam again.

"What went wrong?" I inquired while going over my routine. Dean snorted derisively.

"Nothing, in the beginning. We located the grave, dug up the body and were about to finish the job when they appeared."

"They?"

Dean bobbed his head in agreement. "There must be another grave on the premises. Anyway, Casper did his magic tricks, I went flying into the wall but Sam lit the bones. Only nothing happened. Casper and his friend only went ballistic. We used up most of our arsenal of salt shells to keep them off. Casper's friend sent me flying into the grave marker. Must've popped my shoulder then. Sam tried to help me but they kept coming." Again Dean glanced at his brother.

"Don't worry, he's doing good," I said reassuringly. "He has a hard head." Dean snorted and nodded slightly before picking up his story.

"By then my shoulder started to act up and I was down to my last shell. We decided to retreat and come back later to finish the job so, Sam called you."

"How did you know where to find me?" I interjected.

"GPS on your phone. Hacked the signal," a pained voice from the other couch explained.

"Sam!" Dean and I said in unison. "How do you feel?" I added.

Sam sat up slowly and gingerly touched his head where I had stitched him up. "Like I've been used as a baseball by a ghost," he said.

"He can't feel too bad," Dean concluded with a smile which quickly turned into a pained grimace, when I affixed the last bandage. Even if he wanted to he wouldn't be able to move his arm now. "Watch it, Rambo. I'm a human being with feelings."

"Sorry," I offered with a lopsided grin.

"Sure you are," Dean muttered.

"So what happened to Sam?" I pressed on. "When he called I got the impression you needed fixing, Dean. I didn't expect to find Sam to be the one who wasn't in driving shape."

"You drove us here?" Sam piped up.

"What did you think, bitch? I called Luis to give us a lift cause you decided to take a free trip into the gate?"

Oh, I how missed their banter.

"Jerk!" Sam muttered. "I don't exactly remember what happened after the call I made."

"So what did happen?" I prompted, sitting down next to Dean. He looked me up and down with a frown and I almost expected him to scoot away from me.

"Don't worry, doc, I ain't gonna keel over on you anytime soon," he joked.

"Didn't expect it," I shot back. "But I also didn't expect it earlier when you sort of fell out of the car."

"What can I say? I didn't wanna be the last one standing."

"Dean," Sam urged. "Shoot."

"What do ya think happened? You hung up, Casper didn't like you calling, picked you up and speed barreled you into the gate. You dropped like a stone and I pumped my last salt shell into the asshole. Then I decided to save your sorry ass before Casper had puzzled himself together, and dragged you to the car. Wasn't easy to get your heavy butt in there, with only one arm, but at least no attacks came outside the perimeter. Hauled you in and dropped us here."

I snickered, which earned me confused looks from both Winchesters. "Dropped being the operative word," I explained.

"Glad our entrance here was amusing," Dean said gruffly, but he couldn't prevent a slight smile rushing over his face. I grinned.

"So now how are we going to gank your ghosts?"


	2. Chapter 2

CHAPTER 2

"So now how are we going to gank your ghosts?"

Sam and Dean exchanged a brief glance. Then Sam started to speak.

"Listen, Luis...," Sam paused.

"Dammit, Sammy," Dean grumbled, pointing at the three of us. "WE are not going to gank the ghosts. You and I are going to. No newbies on the show." Sam rolled his eyes.

"Not like you're in shape to do much, being wrapped up like a Christmas parcel," Sam countered. "We could use his help."

"To patch us up if needed, yes. But I doubt Luis has any type of hunting experience whatsoever."

"My uncle was hunting deer," I offered, which only earned me an indignant stare from Dean. I scratched my nose. "Look, Dean. You're right. I don't have any hunting experience. But I was there when you put Anne's ghost to rest. I know about salt circles and iron bars, and about angry ghost powers. So I know roughly what to expect. And frankly, I'm not made to sit at home waiting for one of you to roll you in so I can distribute Band-Aids. I'll stay back and just do what you tell me to, but I won't sit here doing nothing. 'sides, Sam is right. Your arm isn't in any shape for ganking ghosts."

"Nice speech, doc," Dean retorted sarcastically, "but let me be the judge of what my arm can or can't do."

"Dean," Sam warned imploringly. "It's not Luis' fault. Maybe he's right. Give your arm a few days and we'll do research. It wouldn't hurt to find out who Casper number two is and why Casper number one is still there despite the barbecue."

Dean's expression softened and he leaned back, mulling things over. "Fine," he relented. "But no research tonight. I think your smarties do more than just numb the pain."

"No," I insisted, "but there's still the fact that you knocked your head. Are you feeling dizzy or nauseous?"

"Just thirsty. Got another one of those beers?" He pointed at the bottle I had started on before Sam's call.

"No alcohol for scrambled egg patients," I declined. "Sorry."

Dean scowled but didn't argue. "Right, anything you got, but milk."

I went to the kitchen and found some orange juice. Then I grabbed a glass of water and some painkillers and passed them on to Sam. "I've got a guestroom with a king size bed," I offered. "If you don't mind sharing. I'm afraid the couch is no sleeping material."

"King is fine," Sam replied. "We're used to sharing."

"If you drool on me, Sammy, I'll kill you," Dean said with menace but Sam only laughed. They both made short work of their glasses' contents. Sam then scrutinized his brother, whose eyelids were starting to droop.

"Come on, one armed bandit, let's hit the deck. Thanks for your help, Luis."

I shrugged. "Least I could do, Sam."

The brothers followed me up the stairs and I pointed out the guestroom to them. Then I considered heading down to watch the remainder of the football but decided against it. It might be my vacation, but I had a feeling I could use all the sleep I could get.

***sn***

When I came down to the kitchen the next morning, Sam was already sitting at the bar-like counter, waiting for the coffee to brew.

"Morning Sam," I greeted. "Thought I smelled something good. Where's Dean?"

"Still out like a light. He was up half the night. Guess his shoulder is bothering him more than he lets on."

"He's stubborn, eh?" I challenged Sam jokingly. Sam laughed briefly. "Must be a family trait."

"You have no idea." Sam got up and filled two mugs with fresh coffee. "Don't think I missed the insinuation, Luis," he grinned as he set down one cup in front of me. I smiled. It had always been easy to banter with Sam. No wonder Dean loved teasing his brother.

After I had tasted my coffee I got some waffles from the freezer and put them in the toaster. Sam had gotten his laptop from the Impala and happily hacked away on the keyboard.

"Already on the research?"

Both Sam and I looked up and took in the sight of Dean standing in the doorway. He was shirtless and had succeeded to somehow wriggle into his jeans. Everyone who has tried to close the button of a pair of jeans, one-handed, knows it's impossible.

"Luis, do you mind unwrapping me now so I can get decent?" Dean sounded testy. Considering his dilemma and Sam's info about him having been up most of the night I couldn't blame him.

"You know, you could just ask nicely and I would help you out," Sam interjected, grinning mirthfully. His mirth was lost on his brother, though, whose eyes narrowed dangerously as he frowned.

"Over my dead body, princess," Dean growled.

"Come on, Dean, it's not like I never had to undress your ass. I'm just trying to help."

Dean continued to glare at his brother and then turned to me. "Are you going to help me out or do I have to cut it off myself?"

"Relax, Dean," I said soothingly. "I'll take it off. Want to have a look at it anyways."

"As long as you remember where to keep your eyes, doc," he replied without breaking a smile. "It sure was creepy enough having you ogle me in my sleep last time."

Sam looked at me in surprise. I shrugged and grinned sheepishly, silently vowing to fill my college friend in on how I had tried to locate the machete scar on Dean's leg while Sam was in the hospital all those months back. Didn't want him to get the wrong impression. It was bad enough Dean continuously brought it up to get to me.

"You sure are a pleasant morning person, but you forget that I like to 'see' with these here," I smiled, wriggling my fingers. Attack is the best defense. "Quite often they tell me more than my eyes."

Dean smirked as I unwrapped his shoulder. It displayed multiple colors but the swelling wasn't too bad. If it was tender to the touch, he didn't show it. Perfect Winchester poker face.

"Happy, doc?" Dean asked. When I nodded, he turned to walk up the stairs again.

"Where are you going?" Sam called after him.

"Hit the shower. Don't wanna stink up this joint like you do, Sammy," he replied without stopping.

Sam shrugged and glanced at me. "You gonna help me find out who ghost number two might be?"

"Sure. But I don't even know about number one to start with." I pulled my stool closer to Sam so I could see the laptop better.

"Jeremy Wood," Sam stated, clicking on a minimized picture to open it. The face of a young man, barely out of his teenage years, appeared on the screen. "Him and his family lived on the premises for generations. Then he was killed in 1968 when he broke his neck falling down the big staircase," Sam pointed at another picture on the screen.

"He was buried on the premises?" I asked.

Sam nodded. "Family tradition. That was changed a few years later due to a new law. When his parents were killed in a car crash some years later, his sister buried them at the local graveyard."

"Do you know when the haunting started?" As much as the word 'haunting' gave me the creeps ever since I had seen Anne's ghost, I couldn't deny my curiosity. Sam scrolled down the page to a newspaper clipping.

"First mention was a year after Jeremy died. Furniture moving on its own, light flickering, stuff like that. It got worse after his parents died and eventually his sister, Jenna, moved out. The mansion stood abandoned ever since. Every couple of years some teenagers enter the house as a dare and tell ghost stories. The two bodies now seem to be the first fatalities, however."

"So... you think it's Jeremy?"

"We thought so. He's the only one buried there close to the time the haunting started. But we did a salt and burn and neither spirit was destroyed."

"Maybe neither one was Jeremy," I mused.

"He was there," Sam stated, looking at me. Then he pointed at Jeremy's picture. "No mistake there. One of the spirits was him."

"Then why didn't it work?"

"There are only two reasons possible," Sam exhaled slowly. "Either the bones are incomplete..."

"Incomplete?" I interrupted.

"Yeah, like the skull is missing or so," Sam pointed out. I nodded.

"Or?"

Sam sighed. "Or the spirit is attached to an object. In that case the object has to be destroyed in the same manner." He paused. "Jeremy's skeleton was complete."

"So we have to find something that he is attached to?" I asked. "Maybe the sister can be of assistance here."

"Yeah," Sam nodded. "We should definitely talk to her. But still, that would only put one of the ghosts to rest."

Footsteps coming down the stairs halted our discussion. Dean had actually managed to get himself dressed, but judging by the tightly pressed lips he paid the price for it. That shoulder must be awfully sore. He grabbed a mug from the shelf and set it down on the counter to pour himself some coffee. Then he took a seat on a stool opposite from us.

"What have you got?" He asked, looking at his brother.

"Not much more than yesterday," Sam admitted. "Luis was suggesting we interview the sister."

Dean glanced at me before taking a sip from his mug. "Any idea where to find her?"

Sam concentrated on his laptop again and I used the time to inconspicuously scrutinize the older brother. At least I tried to. It didn't take long for Dean to catch on, though. He gazed at me defiantly and I escaped to fill up my mug. Having Dean stare at you is very intense.

I grabbed some bottled water and the pain killers and placed it between the brothers on the table. "Breakfast for champions," I smirked.

Sam looked up and sighed. "I'm good," he mumbled, only to concentrate on his laptop again.

"They're also anti-inflammatory," I urged gently. Sam looked up again and relented. After washing two pills down with some water he purposefully pushed the items towards his brother.

"No way," Dean declined. "Whatever you say, Luis, those smarties make me nap."

"From what I heard you didn't get much sleep in the first place so it wouldn't hurt," I tried to convince him. But Dean resolutely shook his head which earned him a reproachful glare from his brother.

"You found anything yet?" Dean successfully changed the topic, when Sam took a deep breath.

"Jenna Wood, now Jenna Naysmith, in her sixties, widowed, no children. Address in a small town about twenty miles from here."

"Great," Dean finished his coffee. "Let's hit the road."

***sn***

We arrived at the address of Jenna Naysmith about forty-five minutes later. She lived in a small, neat suburban house with a tiny garden in front. I felt a bit nervous when I followed the brothers to the entrance.

Sam knocked on the white door. I almost thought that Jeremy's sister wasn't home, when she finally opened up a crack.

"Mrs. Naysmith?" Sam asked and she nodded. "My name is Sam Webster, these are my brothers Dean and Luis. We're writing an article about supposedly haunted houses in the area and..."

"Young man," the old woman interrupted Sam. "If you've come to blame me for the boys' deaths, you better leave now. I haven't set foot in the house for over forty years. Good bye."

She wanted to shut the door but Sam was quicker and stuck his foot in. "Please, we're not here to put blame on anyone. We would just like to find out what happened back then."

If the situation wasn't so tense I would have laughed. Sam put up a pleading face that was shouting puppy eyes and Dean was flashing a smile that would melt any woman, regardless what age, in the radius of a mile. Trying not to stick out I mustered a smile, too.

Mrs. Naysmith scrutinized the three of us for a moment. Then she nodded. "Alright, boys, come on in, but if I don't like your questions you will have to leave immediately."


	3. Chapter 3

Jenna Wood offered us her couch to sit on, and chose an armchair opposite us for herself. An incredibly old dachshund wobbled his way to her feet where he lay down. She briefly bent down to pet his head. Then she looked at us expectantly.

"Well, boys, what can I do for you?"

Dean exchanged a brief glance with his brother. "Well, Mrs. Naysmith, as my brother already said, we're writing an article about haunted houses in the area and since there was this", Dean actually paused, his eyes flickering to Sam and myself, "... this incident at your family's estate, we thought..."

Dean finally trailed off, seeing that the old woman was glaring at him, eyes practically shooting daggers in his direction. I couldn't blame him. That old goose was creepy. I for one wouldn't be upset if we could leave about right about now.

"We heard about the accident your brother Jeremy had," Sam picked up, clearly unfazed by the old woman's posture. "We were wondering if you could tell us what really happened to him. Did he... was his falling down the stairs to his death also a ghost related incident?" Leave it to Sam to be blatantly blunt.

Jenna Naysmith had kept her dagger eyes on Dean even when Sam had taken over the talking. At the mention of a ghost, her head snapped around to face Sam and even the old dog half lifted an ear in attention. I fully expected her to kick us out, screaming at us never to return. Instead, she started to laugh.

The three of us looked at each other, neither of us sure what to make of her reaction. Eventually she calmed down. "You must forgive me, boys," she explained with a smile, "I didn't mean to be so harsh, but I expected you to blame me for my brother's death. And the deaths of those poor boys the other day. The rumors have been following me ever since Jeremy died. But since you just want to know about the ghosts," she laughed again, somehow sounding relieved and mirthful.

"So, what happened when Jeremy died?" Dean asked quickly.

"Tyler Edwards happened," she replied harshly, the mirth gone from her voice instantly. "No accident, no ghost. Only Tyler. But of course the police and our parents believed him over me. Who would believe a schizophrenic, a 'notorious liar'?"

Bitterness colored her voice and silence took over the tense atmosphere. Sam, Dean and I exchanged a glance. Schizophrenic? I knew many people used the word schizophrenic loosely, including many shades of mental disabilities, ranging from paranoia to multiple personalities. Apparently Mrs. Naysmith was suffering from some form of psychological problems which led to her not being taken seriously by others.

"Now, we would be very interested in your version of what really happened that day, Mrs. Naysmith," Dean said soothingly, flashing a brief smile. For all his upfront gruffness and toughness he could display an amazing amount of gentleness and empathy. By the looks of it, it did the trick.

"Oh, I will, my boy," Mrs. Naysmith replied sweetly, the appalled frustration in her voice from moments earlier gone. She smiled back at Dean, which gave me sort of he creeps. "There's not much to tell, though. Jeremy and Tyler were friends. Best friends. But Tyler has always been somewhat envious of Jeremy. You know, his family didn't have the financial background like we did. To Jeremy it didn't matter. He didn't think any less of his friend. But Tyler," she paused, her hands fidgeting in her lap.

"Tyler didn't want to feel like the recipient of charity," Sam finished her sentence. Jenna Naysmith nodded.

"There was this girl, Susan, whom Tyler had a crush on. She seemed to return his advances and I know Tyler wanted to propose. Jeremy thought he'd be doing him a favor, giving him some money to buy her a ring."

"But Tyler didn't see it that way, did he?" I asked. Jenna looked at me for the first time and nodded.

"We were standing on top of the staircase. Tyler and Jeremy had gotten into a shouting match and I tried to calm them down. I don't know what it was, but Tyler was... like possessed." I noticed Sam and Dean exchanging a meaningful glance which went unnoticed by Jenna. "He shoved Jeremy. Jeremy stumbled back and..." Jenna stopped midsentence.

"And fell down the stairs," Sam finished for her. Jenna nodded.

"He wasn't moving, so we both ran to him. I think he died instantly. I panicked and shouted for my parents, ran to look for them. Tyler, he must have bolted and run off. Our parents never knew Tyler had been there, and the police only questioned him because I insisted it was his fault. Tyler denied he had been present at all. Of course they believed him and not me, so they assumed I had pushed my brother." She sighed. "They didn't want a scandal so they declared it an accident. The officer who was there was friends with my parents and they all didn't want to bring any more focus on the family just because the crazy sister messed up." The bitterness in her voice was evident as she forced the words out between clenched teeth.

"Did Tyler ever say anything to you about it?" Dean wanted to know.

Jenna huffed. "I never saw him again. It was like he disappeared from the face of the earth. As well as Jeremy's necklace."

I noticed Sam and Dean exchanging meaningful glances yet again. Well, meaningful to them at any rate because I certainly had no clue what they were communicating.

"So nobody knows what happened to Tyler?" asked Dean.

Jenna shook her head. "As I said, I never saw him again. He didn't show up for the funeral, nor anytime else."

"And what about the missing necklace?"

Jenna got up and shuffelled over to the fireplace mantle where she grabbed a framed picture. Her dog lifted his head long enough to watch her before resting it on his paws again. Walking back, Jenna handed the picture to Sam.

"This is Jeremy. The picture was taken about a year before his death. You can see the necklace with the pendant. It's identical to one I have. My parents had them made for us, merging our initials together."

I moved closer to Sam to inspect the picture. The necklace consisted of an artfully interwoven J and W. Next to Jeremy was a young Jenna, sporting the same necklace.

"You wouldn't have a picture of Tyler, Mrs. Naysmith?" Sam asked out of the blue. The old lady closed her eyes, thinking.

"I believe so. Let me go check." She got to her feet again and waddled off into the next room.

"Dude," Dean said softly, regarding his brother. "There was no necklace on the bones I burnt."

"Of course not," Sam replied. "Jenna said the necklace went missing. But it could be what ties Jeremy to this place."

"Which means the necklace must be somewhere on the premises still," Dean mused and stared into the distance. His brother watched him a moment and then verbally nudged him.

"Dean?"

"Hmm?"

"I can feel you think. Care to share with the class?"

Despite myself, I snorted, which earned me a reproachful double Winchester stare. I lifted my hands in silent surrender. Dean scowled and opened his mouth to say something but he didn't get far.

"I think...," he managed before trailing off as Jenna returned, a worn looking, and yellow edged photo in her hands. She dropped it on the table in front of Sam.

"My brother on the left, Tyler on the right," she supplied unnecessarily as even I recognized Jeremy Wood from having just seen him in the framed picture. Sam grabbed the picture and squinted in an effort to identify something in detail. His eyebrows climbed up his forehead and without a word he handed the picture to Dean who treated it in a similar manner.

Then the brothers shared a brief, inconspicuous look that I would have missed if I hadn't been watching Dean closely. I suspected that both of them had noticed something that would warrant a pow-wow later on, but I had no clue what it was.

Clearing his throat, Dean addressed Jenna again. "Would it be alright if we borrowed this picture for a while, Mrs. Naysmith?"

Surprised, she looked up, her eyes narrowing with a hint of suspicion on her features, scrutinizing the elder brother. Dean noticed her expression, too, and did what he did best. He flashed her a big smile and all of a sudden looked about as threatening as a little boy asking for a cookie.

"But I need it back," Jenna Naysmith said as way of consent.

"Most definitely, Mrs. Naysmith," Dean said and it wouldn't have surprised me one bit if he had thrown in a salute as well. Saying our good-byes we got up and made our way out the front door. As soon as we were all seated in the Impala, doors closed, Sam showed me the picture.

"Dude on the right, Tyler... he's our second ghost," he declared. I studied the face as best I could and was just about to ask whether they were sure when Dean stunned Sam and myself into momentary silence.

"Tyler's ghost is wearing the necklace."


	4. Chapter 4

"Tyler's ghost is wearing the necklace."

Sam turned to Dean, a puzzled look on his face. Then he pulled up his eyebrows and nodded slowly. "You're right." Dean smirked.

"It means that Tyler must have died on the premises, too, and his remains are buried there as well."

"And Jeremy seems to be tied to the necklace," I offered, making two heads turn to me.

"Your school buddy's a quick learner, Sammy," Dean winked and turned to start the engine of his baby. "Only funny that the old lady seems to know nothing of Tyler being dead, let alone him being buried there."

"Maybe she does," I mumbled, more to myself than to the brothers. Dean glanced back at me before training his eyes back on the road. It was almost like I could see the wheels turning in Dean's brain. Then, without warning, he slammed on the brakes while turning the wheel, spinning the car around 180 degrees. Sam and I were tossed around like salt in a shaker.

"Dean!" Sam shouted. "The hell was that?"

Dean gritted his teeth, laying his left hand in his lap while driving with the right only. He said nothing until we parked again in front of Mrs. Naysmith's house. There, Dean reached over with his right arm to open his door, but Sam held him back.

"You're not getting out of here without telling me what all this is about. And it better be a good reason to aggravate your shoulder. Geez, Dean, don't you ever learn?"

Dean glared at his younger brother. "Fine, bitch."

Sam rolled his eyes at that. "Jerk," he muttered.

Dean took a deep breath before elaborating. "When asked about what happened to her little bro the old bird said it wasn't the ghosts. So she knows about a ghost or even ghosts. Meaning..."

"Meaning there's probably much more going on there than just Jeremy and Tyler," Sam nodded, relaxing back into his seat for a brief moment.

"Wait up," I blurted out before I could stop myself. "Do you mean to say there are more than two ghosts haunting the building?"

Sam shrugged. "Possibly. Just cause all we saw were two angry spirits doesn't mean there aren't any more."

"And that's what I need to ask the old bird, hence the turnaround," Dean mock smiled and, catching Sam off guard, he leaned over and opened his door this time. He was out of the car before Sam had had the chance to snap his fingers. Sam snapped his open mouth shut and dashed after his brother, which left me to scramble after the Winchesters.

By the time I caught up with them Dean was already raising the dead trying to knock down Mrs. Naysmith's door. A few moments later a visibly exasperated Jenna Naysmith opened up and glared at the older Winchester.

"And what seems to be the trouble now, you impetuous pain in the neck?" It was obvious that she was not amused. But Dean was on a mission. And he was hurting, by the way he was holding his arm. I might not have known him for that long but I knew that it wasn't a good mix.

"Listen, ma'am," Dean started again, trying to muster some sort of respect for the elderly woman. "I forgot to ask about the ghosts. You mentioned..." Dean trailed off as the old woman started a full throated laugh. The three of us exchanged some puzzled looks, when abruptly, the laughing stopped.

"Now you listen, young man," she jabbed Dean on the chest with her index finger. "Molly is a dear, harmless ghost. She wouldn't ever harm a fly, let alone my brother. When I told you his death had nothing to do with ghosts, then I meant it. Besides, Molly disappeared long before Jeremy fell down the stairs. I think she moved on eventually."

"What about the ghosts that made you abandon the house?" Dean pressed bluntly. Like a curtain drawn, Jenna's face darkened. If looks could kill I think not only Dean would have dropped dead.

"Don't you ever mention those bastards," she snarled. "May they rot in hell!" She turned to shut the door behind her but Dean wasn't ready to give up. He jammed his foot in the crack and didn't even flinch when she banged the heavy oak blade against it. Irritated, she met his gaze. "Kindly remove your foot, mister," she growled. Dean smiled and pulled his boot back slightly.

"Have you ever seen those bastard ghosts?" he asked, using her expression, before withdrawing his leg completely.

"Isn't it enough that I've seen what they did? Throwing vases, cutlery, china, hell even flowerpots at everything that moved, I saw them even pick up little Tootsie and fling her out the window."

"You saw them fling Tootsie through the window?" Dean arched an eyebrow.

"I saw an invisible force pick up our little Yorkie and throw the poor dog out of the window, yes. Don't you understand English, my boy?"

"But you never saw the ghosts take form? They were always invisible?" Sam piped in, earning himself a pitying smile from the old woman. Then she looked at me and spoke.

"My condolences to your mother, two of three boys with hearing impairment," she cooed. Then she glared at Sam. "What's it with you boys? Do I slur or what? No, they never took form. They were invisible. And they can stay that way, too, for all I care." With that she slammed the door shut.

"She doesn't know," Dean murmured and headed back to his Impala.

"Doesn't know what?" I wondered out loud.

"That her brother is the bastard ghost," Sam explained.

***sn***

Sam nudged me in the side and nodded in Dean's direction, a frown on his face. We were back at my place, talking about the news we had gathered. Sam had opened his laptop again and was trying to find out all about Tyler Edwards. Dean was resting on the couch, his left arm tucked tightly between the backrest of the couch and his torso. He had closed his eyes but a slight frown on his forehead betrayed the notion that he was resting peacefully.

"Find anything yet, Sammy?" he asked without opening his eyes.

"Getting there," Sam replied, scrutinizing his brother. "Do you have a glass of water for me, Luis?" he looked at me. "And some more of those pills?"

Now I frowned but caught on quickly as Sam winked at me. Somehow Dean seemed to catch on, too.

"Not taking any of those smarties, Sammy," he drawled. Sam rolled his eyes.

"I said for me, Dean." Sam had a petulant undertone to his voice. I got up to fetch the pills while Sam followed me into the kitchen to pour himself some water. When I handed him the pills he took them and regarded them pensively.

"Do you have anything that we could slip him unnoticed?" Sam asked softly.

"You wanna drug Dean against his will?" I all but stuttered. Somehow I didn't think Dean would appreciate that, not even from his brother. Yet here I saw Sam nodding at me. "Sam," I started, looking for the right words. "I don't know, man. You think that's a good idea?"

"No, I don't. You said it yourself, he's stubborn. But he's no good to us when he's hurting like that. And we both know he's hurting."

"He's gonna be pissed as hell at us," I objected.

Sam shook his head. "At me, not at you. I can deal with him."

"Those Ibus only come as pills, Sam. How do you wanna slip it past his radar?" I challenged.

"You got nothing fluid?"

"I have tramadol," I admitted. "But..."

"But?"

"It can cause seizures. With his head injury..."

"I get it," Sam cut in. He was thinking. "Dean has never had a seizure before. How often does that happen?"

"Not often," I snorted, which earned me a cautionary glare from Sam. "They wouldn't have it on the market if it happened often. Maybe a small dose."

"Put it in his drink, later."

"Sam," I pleaded. I really didn't want to be doing that.

"Whatever you're conspiring in there, don't do it!" Dean's voice floated across to us from the living room. "I wasn't born yesterday!"

Sam rolled his eyes and then shrugged at me. I felt some sort of relief, because Dean's words seemed to have changed Sam's mind. I should have known that a Winchester mind cannot be deterred.

When we got back to the living room, Dean was sitting at Sam's laptop checking all the info his younger brother had dug up on Tyler.

"So Tyler was last seen five days after Jeremy's untimely death, when he was questioned by the cops again," he summarized without bothering to look up. "Not exactly helping a lot. Guess we'll just have to check the place out again, Sammy."

"Dean... give it another day. You can't possibly think I haven't noticed that your shoulder is bothering you," Sam said imploringly. "One day more or less ain't gonna make a difference."

Dean inhaled audibly, then turned to lay his eyes on Sam. "I'm fine," he said icily.

Sam actually chuckled before replying. "You might be able to intimidate Luis," he said and I opened my mouth to protest. Sam's knowing yet friendly look however, prevented me from saying anything. Dean raised an eyebrow as he glanced at me and Sam plowed on. "But you can't intimidate me. I know you, Dean."

"Yeah? Well, I know you, too, bitch. So get your panties untwisted and let's go find us some ghost." Dean flashed a grin at his brother and Sam just shook his head.

"Jerk," he muttered. "Fine, have it your way. But don't expect any sympathy if the Caspers throw you around some more. I'll go grab my stuff."

"Hey, I'm a big boy. I can handle myself against two fugly ghosts," Dean called after Sam's retreating back.

"Sure you can," Sam's retreating voice replied. Then it was quiet. Dean looked at me, still standing across the room.

"You really scared of me?" he grimaced. I was sure he'd meant to grin.

"Not really, I'm no Casper," I retorted, trying desperately to keep up my reputation and my pride. "You realize, I hope, that Sam has a point." Trying to reason with a Winchester. Definitely an adventure.

"Don't you start, too, doc," Dean shook his head disapprovingly. "Told you the smarties make me sleep. I'll consider them after Casper One and Two have seen the light," he added.

"And if I got something that doesn't make you drowsy?" I had to at least try.

"No such thing, Luis. I tried them all. 'sides, that's what you said last night and they still made me sleepy."

"Don't wear yourself out, Luis," Sam drawled as he joined us again. "You got better luck talking a jackass into skydiving." He took a bite out of a sandwich he'd made himself.

"Where'd you get that?" Dean looked hungrily at Sam.

"Sorry, nothing left to make more. If you let me drive, I'll share."

"That's blackmail," Dean frowned.

"Tell someone who cares," Sam didn't look worried.

"Fine," Dean conceded. "But only till we're there."

"Deal," Sam grinned, taking another bite. Then he held out his hand and accepted the keys before handing Dean the rest of the sandwich. "Let's kick it."

I slowly followed Sam but watched almost mesmerized at the way Dean wolfed down his half of the sandwich. Outside, I climbed into the back seat while Dean rode shotgun and Sam let the Impala's engine purr to life.

"Dude, can you go any slower?" Dean whined when he noticed Sam was taking his time. "I can't pick the daisies, yet."

Something in Dean's voice was off and made me switch into doctor mode almost instantly. I looked at Sam's eyes staring at me in the rearview mirror. He didn't have to say anything. I knew that look on Sam's face.

"Sure, Dean. So you can beat the crap out of me when I scratch your baby. No thank you," he played along.

"You're no f'n," Dean all but slurred and leaned his head onto the non existing headrest by sliding a bit lower in his seat. After this it was eerily quiet for a few moments.

Something was definitely off with Dean, but since Sam didn't seem worried, it could only mean he was behind it. Then it dawned on me and I almost laughed out loud. Sam noticed my reaction and smirked before glancing at his brother.

"Dead to the world," he then announced satisfied.

"What did you do?" I wondered.

"I found your stash of tramadol," Sam explained. "Tramadol is cool. Knocks Dean clean out, as you can see."

"How much did you give him?" Concern colored my voice.

"Just as much as I could drip onto his half of the sandwich," Sam smirked. "He'll be fine."

"Gee, Sam... next time give me a warning."

"Sorry, Luis," Sam said while turning the car around. "But I had to make sure he'd fall for it."

"Why did he?"

"Fall for it?" I nodded. Sam sighed. "Well, all he knew was you have pills. He didn't know about the tramadol drops. Pills he would have found..."

I nodded again, understanding. "And now?"

"Now you have to help me get him inside again and hope he'll be out of it long enough so we can push off our ghost ganking at least till tomorrow."

"He'll be mad at you," I pointed out.

Sam shrugged. "I'll live." He paused. "But at least he won't be a danger to himself and us today." He pulled up in my driveway and parked the Chevy. Soon, Dean was resting on my guest bed. I chanced a look at the sleeping man. His features slack in slumber he didn't look like a man who had faced off against things other people didn't even know existed.

I made my way downstairs again and soon Sam's footsteps told me he was about to join me. It was midafternoon and I couldn't help but wonder about how Dean's reaction would be when he woke up. Sam took a seat next to me on the couch. Then he looked at me, smiling reassuringly.

"What do you say, Luis? Find us a football game to watch?"


	5. Chapter 5

Early evening Sam and I were sitting on the couch sipping a cold one, when we finally heard movement from upstairs. I tensed, expecting a furious Dean rushing down the stairs. Funny enough, after a moment all noises stopped. Sam and I looked at each other in confusion. Then Sam shrugged, downed the last sip of his beer and replaced the empty bottle on the wooden table with an audible thud.

I glared at him briefly and he smiled apologetically. Then he sighed and cocked his head to listen for anything from upstairs.

"Too quiet," I prompted. Sam nodded slowly.

"I'll go check on him," he sighed.

"Want me to come with?" I asked, even though I wasn't sure I wanted to face a pissed off Winchester.

"Nah, I'll holler if I need you," Sam got his big frame off the couch and sauntered over to the staircase. I was resigned to strain my ears and listen. I even muted the TV to make sure I didn't miss Sam calling for me.

Sam's footsteps softened as he reached the top of the stairs. I heard the telltale squeak of the guestroom door opening.

"Dean?" Sam's muffled voice floated down to me. No reply. Soft thuds from Sam's feet moved across the ceiling above me. Still it was eerily silent. Not for long. Sam called his brother's name a second time and like a switch was flipped, the ceiling above me erupted in shuffles and thuds from feet hitting the ground.

It didn't last long, though, and I wasn't sure if I heard a soft moan in between the other noises. Then I heard Dean's voice.

"I swear if you pull a stunt like that again on me, Sam, you'll end up with more than just a split lip." I flinched subtly in sympathy. "And don't even think of asking for my baby's key anytime soon."

Dean jogged down the stairs, followed, albeit a bit slower, by Sam. Ignoring me, Dean went straight to the kitchen and grabbed an ice pack from my freezer. Tossing it to his brother he pulled a beer from the fridge and then came to sit across the room from me in an armchair.

My doctor part wanted to ask if he was okay, but the relentless stare he graced me with made me refrain from uttering those words. Instead I directed them at Sam, who settled next to me on the couch, pressing the ice pack to the left side of his face.

"I deserved it," Sam smirked in way of an answer.

"Damn right you did," Dean growled. "Were you in on it, Luis?"

"Not really," I mumbled.

"Let it go, Dean. You had your revenge," Sam said calmly and tossed the ice pack on the table.

"Bitch," Dean grumbled in the direction of his younger brother.

"Jerk," Sam retorted affectionately. I shook my head and started to laugh.

"You two have a career in comedy waiting if you should ever stop ghost busting," I chuckled and earned a smile from Sam. And if I wasn't mistaken, even Dean's features softened. "So... what now?"

Dean tipped down some beer and then peered into the half empty bottle. "Let me finish this and I'm good to go."

"You want to go now?" Sam asked.

"Sure. I'm wide awake. Never felt better," Dean dead-panned.

"Alright," Sam relented, "as long as your shoulder isn't bothering you."

"I can handle myself, princess. I've had way worse."

"Yeah, tell me about it," Sam muttered under his breath.

I was still wondering if I wanted to know what that was about, when the jingling of keys followed by the distinctive click of my front door opening made me look up. Sure enough I was just in time to see the older Winchester exit my house, closely followed by his brother.

Jumping up, I quickly grabbed my house keys and scrambled into the backseat of the shiny black muscle car parked outside my place with a deep rumbling engine.

"There you are, doc," Dean grinned at me from the rearview mirror. "Almost thought you changed your mind about tagging along."

With that my back was pressed into the seat as Dean pushed down the accelerator and the Impala rumbled away.

***sn***

Dean had parked the car in front of the gates of the eerie looking abandoned estate. The gate itself, a heavy brass ornamented, ten foot high piece of art, was standing ajar. I guessed that Dean didn't exactly bother closing it when he had dragged his brother's body over to the Impala a few days ago.

Finally getting out of the seat, I closed the door to find Sam shoving a crowbar into my hands. "Only got two salt guns," he shrugged. "But that'll hold off any ghost you swing it at if they should come close to you. Iron is just as good as salt."

"You wanna take the doc in?" Dean's voice sounded from where he was rummaging through the trunk of his car. The hidden compartment, no doubt.

"You know, Dean, we might need his help if you and I should be busy occupying the spirits," Sam replied. "You got a lighter?" That was directed at me.

"Um, no," I croaked, "I don't smoke."

Sam took my hand and closed my fingers around something he had thrust in my palm. "You got one now." He smiled at me reassuringly and went to his brother's side.

A moment later the trunk was closed. Dean was holding a sawed off shotgun in one hand and shoved a smallish, flat bottle into one of the pockets of his leather jacket. Noticing my puzzled look he grinned.

"Lighter fluid... those Caspers need to burn. Let's go, Sammy."

I saw Sam rolling his eyes but following his brother and I hurried to catch up with them. The estate itself looked impressive, but every bit as spooky as they make them in horror movies, and suddenly I had no doubt about it being haunted. The hair in the back of my neck stood up.

"You good?" Sam asked casually and I nodded, not trusting my own voice. We walked around to the back of the building where I noticed the open grave of Jeremy, a faint smell of a recent fire still in the air. Both Winchesters checked the other markers and then walked around the whole perimeter, but no additional burial sites were found.

"Not officially buried, makes it so much easier," Dean's sarcasm was tangible as he headed towards the massive stone stairs leading up to what must be the official entrance. Heavy oak doors with two round glass windows that looked like eyes. For a split second I thought I had seen something in one of those windows but as I squinted it faded away.

Sam and Dean were exchanging a quick glance, telling me they had noticed it, too. Sam turned around to me.

"I just wanted to say, Luis, whatever happens, act first and ask questions later," he said calmly, which, for whatever reason didn't do much to soothe my nerves. The memory of my first encounter with a vengeful spirit all those years ago was suddenly back in HD quality.

"Whatever you say, Sam," I choked out, gripping the crowbar tighter. The brothers walked ahead and Dean pushed against the door. It didn't budge. Dean jingled the handle a bit and used his shoulder to push against the heavy oak and with a loud squeak the door moved.

"Not locked?" I wondered softly.

"Figured it might be open. All those teens got in the house, too," Dean shrugged. He looked at Sam, who nodded and pulled on my sleeve to make me follow him. Dean explored the right hand side while Sam and I walked around to the left.

Stale air filled the house, making it obvious that nobody lived in here for years. It was cold and no lights came on when Sam tried a switch. A second later the beam of Sam's flashlight explored the room, and a second beam to our right attested that Dean had followed suit.

Apart from countless dust bunnies and spider webs, nothing spooky met my eye for the moment. No noises, no drafts. Sam and Dean exchanged another look and then Dean made his way up a broad wooden staircase with an intricate railing. I shuddered involuntarily, because from my experience ghosts and stairs didn't mix.

This time, however, nothing happened when Dean climbed the steps and we followed him silently. On the first floor we repeated the exploration of the various rooms but still there was no sign of either of the ghosts. Sam had just vanished into another room while I stayed in the hallway, watching Dean as he appeared from what looked like a bedroom.

"Come out, come out, wherever you are," he mumbled gloomily and knocked on the paneling of the walls. Still nothing happened. If I hadn't seen with my own eyes what ghosts could do, and I'd seen now again what harm they had done to the brothers, I would probably start thinking there was nothing out there.

Dean was walking along the hallway, still knocking on panels with the butt of his shotgun. Sam had joined him, heading in the opposite direction. I followed him, not really wanting to be far away from the guys and their salt gun.

"What are you looking for?" I asked softly.

"Hidden wardrobes or rooms," Sam explained. "Anything big enough to contain a skeleton." Even though Sam had also spoken softly, Dean must have heard him.

"Those bones gotta be here somewhere," he drawled. His sharp eyes scanned every inch of the place, even the ceiling. Suddenly, he froze on the spot, eyes trained on something above us. I raised my gaze, but I didn't find what Dean was scrutinizing.

"What?" I asked with a frown. All I saw above was an intricately worked, paneled wooden ceiling, matching the pattern on the walls. Sam, who apparently had immediately had caught onto what his brother had found, pointed out a tiny metal latch ring to me.

"Attic?" I gasped.

"Bingo," Sam nodded. "But we need something to lever it open." Both brothers quickly checked but nothing obviously meant to hook in to open it was detectable. Dean sighed and swiftly walked over to us, taking the crowbar I was holding from my grasp.

"Step back, ladies," he said with a twinkle in his eyes. Sam and I complied. If Dean managed to open the hatch it could mean anything. Assuming the bones were up there, the spirits could attack since we were then posing a threat to them. Or something could come falling down the hatch. Or nothing at all could occur. At any rate, I didn't mind backing up a bit.

Stretching out to his full height, Dean could reach the latch with the crowbar. I wasn't sure it'd fit in though. However, it only took Dean three tries to wedge the tip of it through the ring. Changing his angle, he used his weight to lever the crowbar and with an almighty crunch the hatch moved a little.

"Son of a bitch," Dean muttered as fine dust came raining down on him and he quickly averted his head to avoid getting any in his eyes. When the trickling of dust had stopped, he attacked the trapdoor again. This time, the door came crashing down on its hinges all the way.

Sam and I involuntarily backed up, but Dean was almost right underneath the door. He'd put all of his considerable strength into the effort. When the swinging door reached the limit of its hinges, it came to an abrupt stop which seemed to kick off a chain reaction.

A rattling noise sounded and I looked up in time to see a ladder descending downwards like a slide. Dean was standing right in its path and the wooden contraption plowed into him before he could make a move, pinning him to the ground.

"Dean!" Sam was instantly by his side and lifted the heavy ladder so his brother could roll out. "You okay, dude?"

"Yeah," Dean croaked, sitting up and pulling a face. "Peachy." He was holding his shoulder, where I guessed the main impact had been. His left shoulder. The one I'd reset barely two days ago.

"Let me check," I offered, putting my hand on his back to reassure him. Or myself?

"Hands off, doc. I'm good," he shrugged himself out of the contact and got to his feet. My expression probably displayed my disbelief and Dean moved his arm. "See, not popped. Back off."

My mind somewhat appeased, I nodded. A draft from above made the three of us look up into the hole that the door had revealed. My breath hitched and my heart skipped a beat as we were staring right into the angry face of Tyler Edwards' ghost.


	6. Chapter 6

For a moment I was rooted to the spot, unable to take my eyes off the ghost's face. The next second the spirit disappeared in a whisk of smoke or fog, hit by a rock salt bullet that Sam had dispatched from his gun. As soon as Tyler had vanished, Dean dashed up the ladder, Sam hot on his heels. I followed a few moments later after reclaiming the crowbar.

When I reached the attic, the brothers were already scanning all the corners for the spirits and the elusive skeleton, guns at the ready. I swallowed and took in the dusty old room full of boxes, old furniture and spider webs. Visibility was quite good here due to several large overhead windows.

"Over here," Dean called, claiming both Sam's and my attention. He was kneeling in front of a pile of bones, decorated with what was left of Tyler's clothes. Around his neck, tangled up in the vertebrae and ribs, the missing necklace. I took a relieved breath. Salt and burn, here we go.

I should have known it sounded too easy. Dean was in the process of pulling the bottle with the accelerant from his pocket, when out of the blue he went flying into the opposite wall. Seconds later, Tyler materialized right in front of him.

Sam, who had raised his gun to shoot Tyler, found himself in a similar position with Jeremy pinning him to another wall. For a moment I didn't know what to do. Then I lifted the crowbar and took a swing at Jeremy, hoping I wouldn't knock Sam in the process. Jeremy's figure dispersed and Sam fell to the ground.

"Thanks, Luis," he rasped, picking himself up. Turning around, I saw Dean had somehow managed to twist his shotgun and pulled the trigger, effectively freeing him from the spirit pinning him down.

"Frigging Caspers," he muttered, returning to the bones. Sam, not idle, pulled a handful of salt from his pocket and spread the white crystals across the bones. Dean followed quickly by dousing the remains with lighter fluid. Yet when he started to fiddle with his Zippo, all hell broke loose.

Tyler was back, and I got a taste of how it feels being used as a tossing toy by a spirit. Before I realized what was happening, I sailed across the room, knocking into an old seaman's crate. I felt my breath being forced out of my lungs with a whoosh and I struggled to draw in some air. For a moment I saw black dots dancing at the edge of my vision.

When my eyesight cleared, I saw Sam back to being pinned by Jeremy, while Dean was busy crawling out from under a turned over book rack that he had definitely knocked over when Tyler blasted him across the room. As I struggled to my feet, Sam fired his gun, ridding himself of Jeremy.

Tyler growled infuriated and Dean found himself pinned against the wall again, which he knocked into with a deafening thud. That sounded like skull against wood to me and for a split second I feared, Dean would pass out. Immediately Tyler was onto him, grabbing him by the throat and lifting him up so Dean's feet were dangling a few inches above the floor.

Making use of Tyler being busy with Dean, Sam started towards the crowbar I had dropped, but Tyler was quick. A swish of his hand, and the crowbar was airborne, catching Sam on the forehead. He dropped like a stone, out cold.

"Sam!" Dean's voice was hoarse from Tyler's hand squeezing down on his windpipe. He struggled against Tyler, trying to angle his gun to shoot the spirit, but Tyler flung it from Dean's grasp and it skittered across the floor, away from me.

Tyler focused on Dean again, lifting him up even higher. Both Dean's hands were trying to pry Tyler's fingers away from his throat. In the dimming light that illuminated the attic from above, I couldn't see everything clearly, but I did notice Dean's struggles getting weaker.

I had to help him, but what could I do? The shotgun? Sam's double barrels both had been fired and Dean's gun had slid under a heavy looking chest of drawers. The crowbar? Tyler could control it from a distance and I didn't really want to get near him. Jeremy hadn't yet reappeared but it was only a matter of time.

Dean was now gasping for air and Tyler didn't look ready to let him go. Sam's brother let his arms drop to his sides, gathering the strength he had left to deliver a message to me.

"Burn 'em," he wheezed.

Burn them. Of course. I fumbled for the lighter and dashed over to Tyler's remains. Tyler noticed my movement but before he could send me flying, Dean picked up his struggles again, tying the spirit's attention back to him.

My hands were shaking as I tried the flip on the lighter. Somehow my fingers weren't cooperating. Looking up at Dean again, I saw his eyes starting to flicker and roll back. 'Come on, Luis,' I urged myself on. Dean didn't have much time left.

Jeremy appeared in front of me and I jumped. I really needed to get the bones burning. Finally the desired flame appeared and I dropped the Zippo onto the bones, which immediately lit up.

I stepped back and saw Jeremy in flames, inches from where I had been standing. A thud relocated my attention to Dean. Tyler being gone, he'd dropped to the floor like a rag doll. He wasn't moving.

Scrambling over to him to make sure he was alive and breathing, I rolled him onto his back. Putting two fingers to his neck, I could feel his pulse racing shallowly. But he wasn't breathing.

I slapped Dean's face, making his head loll over to the other side. No reaction. Grabbing his jaw in my right hand, I noticed the slightly blue tinge of his lips. I gave him another shake. Still no reaction.

"Come on, Dean," I growled. "You don't want me to have to do THAT, do you?"

I really didn't think the older Winchester would appreciate mouth to mouth, but if push came to shove, I'd have to. As an emphasis I slammed my fist into his chest and was finally rewarded with a shuddering breath.

Sitting back on my haunches I let out the air I hadn't noticed I'd held. Dean's throat was sporting hand shaped bruises and a small trickle of blood ran down his neck. He probably popped his stitches or added a new gash to his collection. A soft moan from across the room made me lift my head.

Sam had rolled over onto his back, holding his forehead, where the crowbar had connected. I scooted over to him to inspect the damage.

"Hey, Sam," I softly said, "let me take a look."

"Wh't happen'd?" He asked with a bit of a slur.

"Tyler used you as target practice with the crowbar. Gave you one hell of a goose egg," I explained as I prodded around the sizeable lump. Sam groaned. "Sorry," I muttered.

"'s okay," Sam mumbled. "What 'bout Dean? Where's Dean?"

I sighed. "He's out cold. Tyler tried to squeeze the air out of him."

"He okay?"

"He'll be, I guess. He's stubborn. Had to threaten him with mouth to mouth to start breathing however." Sam scoffed.

"What about Tyler 'nd Jeremy?"

"Deep fried, extra crispy," I offered, trying out what Sam had told me was Dean's favorite way to say it. Sam nodded.

"Help me up."

"Slowly, Sam. You're giving a unicorn a run for the money, so take it easy. I should call an ambulance for the two of you. So don't make me drag your oversized body to your car or I'll be tempted to call 911 anyways." I suddenly longed for some extra hands and unlimited access to medical supplies.

Sam couldn't quite manage to frown at me, but I could tell he was trying. Instead, he lifted himself on his own and walked over to his brother. Whether the knock to the head he'd taken hadn't been as bad I had thought or it was sheer Winchester stubbornness that was keeping him functional, I wasn't sure. My money was on the latter.

Sam bent down to convince himself that his brother would be alright. He traced the angry hand print on Dean's throat and almost affectionately ran his fingers over the stubble on his brother's cheek.

"Let's get him to the car," Sam said, getting up. To his credit I had to admit he was holding his own, not showing any signs of concussion. I nodded, and together we managed to carry the dead weight, that was Dean, to the Impala.

Sam was cradling his brother in his arms while I fished the keys from Dean's pocket. I opened the back doors and we dragged and pushed and pulled at Dean until we were confident he was comfortable. At one point during our efforts, Dean had started to moan softly, but hadn't really awoken. Sam closed his side's back door and I crawled half way in to do a quick check on Dean again. I didn't really get started.

A thud made me look up so fast I almost knocked my head on the roof of the black car. I crawled back out my side and stood up. Sam was nowhere to be seen, at least not from where I was standing. Slamming the back door shut, making sure I didn't hit Dean's booted feet, I rushed around to Sam's side.

He was crumpled on the dusty ground, looking somewhat spooky in the rapidly fading light. Knowing his brother was safely in the car, Sam's grip on himself had loosened and his head injury called first dibs on his hold on consciousness.

"Looks like I'll be driving," I muttered to nobody in particular. A quick check had me satisfied Sam had merely passed out. With a sigh, I got to work. Getting Sam into the car was even more difficult than I imagined. I had no clue how Dean had managed to do it with his busted shoulder the other day.

Finally I turned the keys in the ignition and the big black car rumbled to life. But for the engine's purring it would be a quiet way home.

***sn***

Wearily I let my body drop into my arm chair, the only piece of my couch set that was not taken by Winchester limbs. I had once more carried their heavy asses into my living room, and made sure they were not in immediate danger of dying. I had re-stitched Dean's head wound and had deposited an ice pack on Sam's forehead.

Now that I was sitting, I felt all the adrenalin from this evening leave my body. I was tired. Before I knew it, my eyelids dropped and I was asleep.

The next thing I was aware of was a hand shaking my shoulder. Groggily, I opened my eyes. It was brighter in my house than I thought it was when we returned. Dean's face materialized in front of mine.

"You okay, Luis?" he asked. I blinked my eyes and focused on him. Why was he up in the middle of the night? I couldn't have slept more than an hour or two. My body was screaming for more sleep.

"I'm sure all you want to do is turn around and go back to sleep, doc, but it's after 8 am and we are hungry." Dean held out his hand to me. I stared at it blankly. 8 am? What on earth does he want from me?

"Keys, Luis," he demanded, wriggling his fingers impatiently. Keys? Oh yes, the keys to the Impala.

"Kitchen counter," I mumbled, closing my eyes again. He had to be kidding. It just couldn't be eight already.

"Nope," he replied. "No keys on the counter. Hand them over or I'll search your pockets myself. I don't want to hotwire my baby, so cough them up, pronto. Sammy is starving."

With a groan I sat up, stuffed my hand in my jeans pocket and produced the keys. I could have sworn I had left them on the counter. Apparently I had not.

"Why, thank you," Dean smiled. "Now, how do you want your coffee?"

"Coffee?" I frowned.

"Yes, black caffeine bomb. Coffee. The stuff that you ran out of, along with anything edible that is not frozen solid." Sarcasm. I knew it the moment I heard it. In the background I heard Sam chuckling softly.

"Black, no sugar," I mumbled. Usually I'd take cream with it but I had a feeling my brain needed an extra kick start. "And a bagel, please."

"Black and a bagel, got it," Dean was already half way to the door. I glanced at Sam whose goose egg was displaying fifty shades of rainbow colored pain. He was sitting on the couch he'd slept on, his laptop balanced on his long legs. I stretched my arms to get rid of the stiff muscles and failed to suppress a yawn.

"Oh, and Luis?" Dean had turned around in the open front door. "If I find even the tiniest scratch in the paintwork..." He mimicked cutting his throat. I got the picture and nodded.

"Yeah, I know, I'm dead."

"Deader than dead," Dean emphasized and vanished. I only dared breathing again when I heard the Impala start up and leave. Next to me Sam burst out in laughter.

"You should have seen your face..."


	7. Chapter 7

EPILOGUE

I stretched out in my arm chair, sighing in contentment. That coffee Dean had picked up was really good and warmed me from the inside. Not that I was cold, but last night's adventure had taken its toll on me. Unlike the brothers, I wasn't used to these kinds of experiences.

Putting my now empty mug back on the coffee table I chanced a glance at Sam and Dean. Dean was sporting a sugar coated top lip. I guess he was enjoying his donut too much to notice. I grinned. Sam, who caught onto my grin, also broke out in a broad smile.

After taking another bite, Dean became aware of our staring. He stopped chewing and glanced from Sam to me and back to Sam.

"What?" he challenged us. "Can't a man enjoy a damned good donut after a hard night's work?" Sam chuckled and nodded, taking a bite from his cream cheese bagel. Dean turned to me. "Go stare at Sam eating, for a change."

I shook my head with a smile on my lips. As gruff as Dean sometimes appeared to be, it was hard not to like him. Looking at Sam I saw him wink at me.

"Any ideas about how Tyler ended up in the attic?" I tried to change the topic and at the same time to satisfy my own curiosity.

"My best bet is," Sam squeezed out between two mouthfuls of bagel, "Jeremy's death was an accident. Tyler was distraught, took the necklace, and eventually hid up in the attic."

"Sounds plausible," I nodded. "But how did he die?"

"Maybe he offed himself 'cause he couldn't live with the guilt," Dean chimed in, wiping the excess sugar off his lips. I swallowed hard. Did Dean really think that's what happened? I found it hard to wrap my mind around someone taking his or her own life.

"Or maybe," Sam added, "he accidentally locked himself in the attic and since nobody knew he was up there..."

If that was supposed to put my mind at ease, it had the opposite effect. Starving to death sounded just as horrible as suicide. I got up and collected the wrappers from the bagels and donuts.

"Fact is," Dean continued, "nobody knows for sure but Tyler. And he can't tell anybody. Don't let it get to you, Luis." Dean had gotten up and was now next to me, briefly dropping his hand on my back reassuringly. A moment later he was past me and dropped his empty Styrofoam cup in the trash.

"I know it's easy for us to say," Sam backed up his brother. "We grew up with it. We learned long ago to shrug it off and accept we can't save everybody." Dean snorted somewhat derisively as he sat back down on the couch. Sam shot him a warning glance. I wasn't sure about it, but it seemed like a whole conversation unfolded in the brief moment the brothers locked eyes.

When Dean averted his gaze a moment later it was not in defeat but more in way of saying 'not now, Sam'. Sam nodded almost imperceptibly and addressed me again.

"Keep in mind that nobody else will die in there from a ghost attack, and you are part of the reason it's that way. You helped us getting rid of the Caspers and actually saved our butts in there."

I chuckled despite the mental picture Sam's words evoked. I was sure for some nights to come, yet I would be seeing a crowbar connecting with Sam's head and Dean dropping to the floor like an oversized rag doll. Not to mention the way it felt when an invisible power flings you across the room. I nodded and rubbed my stubbled chin.

"Yes, I know. Thanks, you two." It had taken me a while to digest my first encounter with the spirit world when the brothers had salted and burned Anne's bones. I had learned a lot since, but last night's experiences were much more intense and too close for comfort. There was no way I could just shrug it off as if nothing extraordinary had happened. "I'll be okay," I added, mustering a grin.

"Atta boy," Dean grinned back at me. "Sammy, you ready to hit the road?"

A slight tinge of disappointment washed through me at Dean's words. Somehow I had hoped the brothers would maybe stay on a day longer, but on the other hand, it didn't come as a surprise, really. Moving around was just in their nature.

I got up and went to my medicine cabinet in the bathroom. When I emerged, the Winchesters were already standing at the front door.

"If anything is the matter, give us a call," Sam said, drawing me in a friendly hug. "Thanks for everything, Luis."

"I will, and you're welcome," I replied, dropping a box of Ibus into Sam's hands. "Smarties for the road," I grinned and winked at Dean.

Dean smiled and shook his head slightly. "You never give up, doc, do you?" His voice was soft and his eyes twinkled. Then he slapped my shoulder in way of good-bye and walked through the door to the impressive black car. Sam followed suit and soon the rumbling of the 67 Impala disappeared in the distance, receding until it ceased completely.


End file.
